


God Damn it John! You and Your Meatballs!

by Inactive Account (sassybleu)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bisexual John, But he's happy, Fluff, He's kinda disappointed in the last chapter, He's so smug, Humor, Insecure Sherlock, John likes it, John's ahead of the game, M/M, Meatballs, Sherlock doesn't know what's happening, Sherlock passes out, bye, i'm done, idk what else to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-24
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-06 01:36:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1839568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sassybleu/pseuds/Inactive%20Account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John started rolling the meat into balls and setting them down in a dish to bake them; while Sherlock went back to analyzing his text.  It wasn’t until John had finished, and bent over to put the dish in the oven, that Sherlock finally snapped,<br/>“God damn it, John!” John almost tossed the dish in surprise when he jumped at Sherlock’s sudden shout. After setting the dish inside and closing the door he turned around and raised an eyebrow at his flatmate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meatballs and Memories

**Author's Note:**

> Goal: 500 words  
> Disclaimer: I own nothing except my words

     Sherlock was testing handwriting this Saturday. Graphology to be more exact; Sherlock had spent the entire previous week collecting handwriting samples from everyone he knew, and now he was carefully examining the style and font of each one, and grading how they matched against their owner’s personality. It wasn’t the most exciting experiment, but Sherlock had a theory that it could help with proving the validity of suicide notes.

     He had just moved on to Sally’s writing when John entered the kitchen. He wasn’t really doing anything of importance; just putting the kettle on for a cuppa, but it still distracted Sherlock. As he waited for the kettle to boil, John decided to look for something to cook for dinner. He’d been feeling rather lazy this weekend and he had skipped the shopping yesterday evening, so he was scavenging food until he went tomorrow. Finding some tomato sauce, and ground beef, John decided to make spaghetti and meatballs, which he happened to know Sherlock liked (even if he would never admit it).

     It wasn’t that Sherlock was easily distracted; it’s that _John was incredibly distracting._ He’d already learned what he needed from the experiment, and at this point was only continuing so that he could publish his findings on his new blog dedicated to his research results. After he’d stored away the information in his Mind Palace [Death-Suicide-Notes-Coercion], he kept working to finish with the rest of his samples, Sally’s, Anderson’s, and Lestrade’s. The only reason he was able to get Sally’s and Anderson’s samples is because John asked them; he had made a deal that Sherlock eat one full meal a day for a week, and in return, John got the samples.

     By this point John was stirring the pasta cooking in the boiling water, and he was grating parmesan into a bowl. The meat mixed with the rest of the ingredients lay in a bowl on the counter, waiting to be rolled out into spheres. Sherlock had just finished Sally’s paper when he stopped to look at John. He wasn’t exactly looking as he was glaring daggers into the back of John’s head for distracting him.  It didn’t exactly have the full effect Sherlock wanted it to, nor would it since Sherlock could never admit his feelings, but he wanted to make sure his anger was placed elsewhere rather than be trapped inside his mind.

…

     Sherlock had come to the conclusion exactly 23 days ago, that he had deep, shall we say, _sentimental_ feelings for John. And while Sherlock knew that John deeply cared for him in return, he wasn’t sure that John cared for him _that way_. When it came to matters of the heart, Sherlock was a stupid as Anderson; and as lonely as his single brain cell.

…

     John started rolling the meat into balls and setting them down in a dish to bake them; while Sherlock went back to analyzing his text.  It wasn’t until John had finished, and bent over to put the dish in the oven, that Sherlock finally snapped,

“God damn it, John!” John almost tossed the dish in surprise when he jumped at Sherlock’s sudden shout. After setting the dish inside and closing the door he turned around and raised an eyebrow at his flatmate.

“You.” He said pointing at John, “You are so incredibly distracting, John. I demand you quit at once.”

          “Quit what Sherlock? What am I doing?”

“Your baking, and bending over, and _licking your lips_! Quit already, I can’t focus with you around.” John was amused at Sherlock’s words.

          “Why does that stuff bother you Sherlock?” He said calmly, concealing a smile.

“Because my feelings with you are bordering unbearable and you are pushing the line, John.” Sherlock blurted before he could think of what to say. Realizing what he’d said, Sherlock was horrified at the stupidity in himself, which only ever came out around John. Standing up, Sherlock rushed to his room and shut the door behind him.

     John sighed and turned off the stovetop, along with the oven. He knew this had been coming, he just hadn’t expected it today since Sherlock was experimenting. John had come to terms with his feelings for Sherlock weeks ago, and he was just waiting for the genius to catch up and make a move, because he didn’t want to scare the man off.

…

     The truth was that John is bisexual. He’d realized it in uni, but he only ever seemed to date men he had a special connection with, which hadn’t happened _since_ uni; until Sherlock. With women it was easier for him to have casual relationships, so it was easier for him if people assumed he was straight. After he’d realized his feelings, he decided to wait for Sherlock.

…

     Walking to Sherlock’s door, John tapped twice with his knuckles before entering. It was a dark and musty room, one that was barely ever used but reminded you of an old manor. The walls were a deep brown, and the carpet was a dark burnt-orange color. The curtains were near black and kept out all outside light. The only light being cast in the room from two bedside lamps that glowed a soft yellow. In the middle of the room lay a king sized bed, with crisp white sheets and a dark red duvet. In the middle, curled up into a ball and facing away from the door lay Sherlock, dressed in a white t-shirt, pyjama bottoms, and his blue silk dressing gown.

John didn’t like seeing Sherlock curled in on himself; the man was a gift to the world, and he should never feel the need to disappear. Walking slowly over to the bed, John kicked off his shoes and sat on the bed, leaning against the headboard on the side closest to the door. Gently, John placed a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder, and rubbed small circles. After a few minutes, John quietly said,

          “I’ve been waiting for you, Sherlock.” Sherlock stiffened at the words, and John continued:

          “I’ll admit, I thought you’d be more subtle about it, but I already knew. I was just waiting for you to say something. I feel the same, Sherlock.”

     At the last words, Sherlock relaxed and slowly turned to John. John scooted down on the bed so that he was eye to eye with Sherlock.

“I wasn’t sure. I couldn’t tell if you felt the same, John. You-” John cut him off with a soft kiss. Pulling back slowly, John smiled at Sherlock, and Sherlock smiled back. Sherlock pushed his lips to John’s, and let him take the lead, teaching him what to do. After a moment of this, Sherlock started kissing with a renewed passion, quickly perfecting what John had taught him seconds before. After a few moments, their lungs were screaming and they were forced to pull away. John turned off the bedside lamps and laid back down on his back, pulling Sherlock to him. Settling on his chest, Sherlock’s mop of hair rested under John’s chin, and he tangled his limbs with the smaller man’s. A moment later Sherlock chuckled,

“You and your meatballs, John.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4/13/15: Please do not duplicate or post this content elsewhere without consent.


	2. The Land of the Living

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has a condition. 
> 
> John is very proud of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Work and real life got in the way, as much as I try not to let it.
> 
> *I added a third chapter. Just to be nice. Isn't that wonderful? -because I'm actually quite awful.
> 
> Thanks for reading

     Sherlock woke first the next morning with plenty of time to contemplate how blissfully quiet his mind is when John was around. Sherlock took the opportunity to stare at John, deleting and re-memorizing his face repeatedly. It probably wasn’t the best way to spend his time but he just could bring himself to pull away. If John woke up and decided to leave, Sherlock wanted to make sure he enjoyed what he got. His hands traced pi onto John’s chest, which had been removed of its shirt sometime throughout the night.

     Slowly entering the conscious world, John kept his eyes closed, but tightened his arm that was wrapped around Sherlock, the other lay behind his head. A smile curved at John’s lips as he felt Sherlock’s curly hair move; tickling his chest. Sherlock knew he was awake, but was irritated that he couldn’t see John properly.

“John. Open your eyes.” He whined.

          “Mmmm… No, I’m good in this dream thank you. Wouldn’t want you to disappear on me, so soon after I got you.” He replied, eyes still closed.

     Sherlock, being the pouty child he was, took this a challenge. Unwrapping his limbs from John’s, Sherlock sat up, and got a leg over on John, effectively straddling him. At this, John opened his eyes and attempted to buck Sherlock off. Sherlock, having anticipated this, quickly pinned him down with military precision after having seen John do it so often.

          “Oh, you bastard! Get off me.” He said halfheartedly. Sherlock bent down to his left ear,

“What’s the matter John? Having a hard time? All you need to do is focus.” He teased in his low, velvety voice. John bit his lip to keep from whimpering, Sherlock’s voice having far too great of an effect on him. John stilled and looked up at Sherlock.

          “You’ve got me. Now what do you want to do with me?” He said, voice low with arousal.

Sherlock’s knowing eyes scanned John’s face methodically, before a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“Oh, John. You have _no_ idea.” And with that he leaned down again, pressing his lips to John’s. The kiss was sweet and short, but entirely them. The second kiss had more heat, and revealed their suppressed desire with a sudden urgency. Their third kiss opened the floodgates, and the moaning began. Sherlock felt John harden beneath him, and suddenly did the same. Lining them up properly, Sherlock began to slowly rub, soon letting go of John’s arms.

     Moaning at the sudden contact, and freedom of his limbs, John wrapped his arms around Sherlock. One around his neck, with his hands massaging Sherlock’s scalp; the other down at his hip, encouraging the movements. Encouraged by John’s moans of approval, Sherlock became rougher, moving faster and less measured.

     Sherlock knew he couldn’t last much longer, being a virgin who’s never had to practice control; so he released John’s mouth and moved it to his ear.

“John, you are everything. There’s nothing I could even compare you to. You light up my world; but I can’t compare you to the sun because it’s so inaccessible. You shield me from danger, but I can’t compare you to a wall because it’s so stiff. You’re you, John; and you’re mine.”

     Somewhere, in the back of John’s mind, he wondered how Sherlock could remain so elegant during their particular actions, but the part that was in the moment, could really have cared less. As Sherlock said “You’re mine”, John came, throwing his head back and releasing something that sounded vaguely like “Sh’lock”.

     At the sight of John’s loss in control, Sherlock gave himself over; and feeling what had been an entire life’s worth of sexual energy built-up, being released, it wasn’t surprising that Sherlock managed to lose consciousness.

…

     When Sherlock finally came to, he was lying on his back on his side of the bed, dressed only in pants. John had taken the liberty of cleaning them both up, and was currently in the bathroom.

     Sherlock’s body was sore, though he couldn’t understand why. He was also lightheaded, and pleasure still rocked through him in subtle waves. He didn’t know how it was possible, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care either.

     Walking back into the room, Sherlock saw that John had went to the kitchen and got biscuits, as well as made some tea. John sat on the edge of the bed and set the tray on Sherlock’s bedside table. Sherlock tried to sit up, which only succeeded in dizzying him further, and plopping back down on the pillows with a soft thud.

          “Careful! Let me…” He trailed off as he helped Sherlock sit up.

“Mm… How long was I out?”

          “About 45 minutes.” Sherlock smiled and slightly nodded before he took a sip of his tea, and then threw it back in one go. Grabbing a biscuit, John slowly fed him until he was satisfied with how much he ate.

After some more rest, Sherlock and John woke up the same way they had to first time; with want and need urgently pulling them into another heated session.

…

     I had been a month now that they’d been together. Sex, crimes, chases, all taking up a great deal of their time. Sherlock hadn’t done an experiment since he’d finished his graphology one. He’d found a new way to occupy his time; and John hadn’t read a single book in all that time either.

     There’s no other way to describe what they do except than to use the term _make love_. Sometimes it’s rough and fast after a chase, while the adrenaline is pumping high in their veins. But oftentimes it’s slow and tender, when they take the time to explore and relearn each other’s bodies.

     It was beautiful; and even still, John couldn’t help but feel a little smug that Sherlock passed out every time he came.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you can't tell, I can't write smut. But I tried! Like super-duper hard, I promise. I hope you liked it :)
> 
> Two in one day to make up for the delay!  
> (Totally didn't mean for that to rhyme. It just kinda happened...)
> 
> 4/13/15: Please do not duplicate or post this content elsewhere without consent.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock overcome their problems.

     Another month came and went, much the same way as the first; though the two had finally found a balance that works for them. Sherlock was now able to do experiments again, and John was finally able to finish some of his books. And their love still held strong.

     It was a lazy Saturday morning; Sherlock had no case, and John had the day off from surgery. It started like most their mornings. John and Sherlock, lying in bed with their limbs as entangled as possible. Then starts the kisses, the rubbing, the grabbing, and the whispers in each other’s ears… John had always been on top since they’d discovered Sherlock’s _condition_ , as they called it. And after drawing it out for so long, John finally brought them to the peak. Watching his lover come just seconds after him, he was prepared to see him fade to darkness, and become at peace with the world, if only for a while. What surprised him was that Sherlock, for the first time, had stayed awake, and was smiling very brightly; the kind that was reserved for John.

     Smiling back, John kissed Sherlock, and wrapped him in his arms.

          “Love you.”

“I love you as well John.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like this fluff.  
> I don't write fluff.  
> I don't eat fluff.  
> I don't know fluff.
> 
> 4/13/15: Please do not duplicate or post this content elsewhere without consent.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope it made you laugh a little
> 
>  
> 
> **I take prompts! Send me one!**


End file.
